Murder on the Cliffs by Joanna Challis

Author:Joanna Challis
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Macmillan
Published: 2010-04-01T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY- TWO

Ewe had never heard of a Mr. Cameron.

“London folk,” she snorted. “Not good enough for the likes of us, and Missy Victoria mixed with that lot a good deal. Once she’d caught Lord David’s eye, she had to keep him, if you read me.”

“I cannot read you all the time, Ewe. You are a lady of secrets.”

Her plump cheeks brightened. “The Hartleys run with the London crowd. Not Lord David so much, mind. He’s a man of the land, the best landlord.”

“Sir Edward’s landlord, too,” I pointed out. “Where is this Castle Mor? I am eager to see it.”

“You won’t be seein’ it till after my lunch party. Oh, dear! How’s everything look, then?”

I turned around to survey the organized lunch party paraphernalia. The napkins were folded, the cutlery and table setting dusted and placed, and the chairs arranged; Ewe’s tiny cottage gleamed from head to toe and I told her so. “You know my father never stopped talking about your pasties. He used to say: ‘Old Ewe Sinclaire makes the best Cornish pasty. If you ever meet her, Daph, you’ll love her. She’s a people watcher, too.’ ”

“People watcher!” Huffing, Ewe steered me to the kitchen to show off her famous batch of newly baked pasties.

“Everything looks perfect,” I assured her. “Do you wish me to check the table once more? And that the curtains are dusted?”

“Yes, yes,” she nodded.

I went to the window instead, making one cursory glance over table and curtains. “The prevailing question,” I muttered aloud, “is who killed Victoria and why?”

I’d not forget my oath to Mrs. Bastion. I’d do my best to find her killer. I didn’t understand what stroke of fate had sent me to Cornwall at this time, to stumble upon a beautiful dead bride, to yearn to discover her secret life, but eventually, I would learn the cause of her death.

Men like Sir Edward and his London associates looked upon solving murder as a business, and a business it was, to a certain extent. But then there was the human part of it; a life lost, a grieving family, a murderer on the loose.

I reminded myself she may have taken her own life. “The business of death,” I whispered, slipping my fingers through Ewe’s fine lace curtains.

“What did you say?” Ewe yelled from the other room. “Has anyone arrived yet?”

“Not yet. Who makes you so nervous?”

Tugging off her apron, she pressed down the rolled sides of her hair. “We’ve got new folk drivin’ down today.” Winking at me, she whipped up some kind of cream concoction. “Fancy ones to rival yesterday’s offerings.”

I loved Ewe’s translation for the London crowd. Yesterday’s offerings. How charming.

“Did you ever see such snobs! Pegasus noses, poked higher in the air than a kite. Poor Mrs. B had a hard time of it. She ain’t finished with ’em either. Plannin’ something. Maybe,” Ewe said, her eyes rounded to saucers, “a revenge killin’.”

She was talking of the village “wake,” the one held at Mrs. Bastion’s cottage. I wished I could have gone to both.

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